


Fly Me Home

by BlossomsintheMist



Series: Steve/Tony Kinktober 2017 [15]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Adrenaline, Adrenaline-fueled Sex, After Battle Sex, Bottom Tony, Bottom Tony Stark, Costume Kink, Costumes, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Minor Injuries, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex with Minor Injuries, Sexual Content, Sub Tony, Sub Tony Stark, Top Steve, Top Steve Rogers, sex in costume
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 09:03:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12527796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/pseuds/BlossomsintheMist
Summary: Steve grinned, bounced on the heels of his feet a little, still holding onto Tony.  “So, when do I get to see your sweet face, mister?” he teased, and Tony found himself shaking his head at him, still smiling fondly.He reached up, pulled the helmet off, and smiled at him.  “Since you ask so nicely,” he said back in the same teasing tone, knowing affection was bleeding out into his voice all over and not caring.Written for prompts from Days Seventeen and Eighteen of Kinktober: Costume and Leather.





	Fly Me Home

“Whew,” Tony said, and shook his head to clear it, instinctively raising his gauntleted hand to his helmet, as if that would help.  “That was … something else.”  He could feel something trickling down along his face inside the helmet, sticky and wet, down over his temple, so he was probably bleeding.  His ears were still ringing a little, and he felt not quite steady on his feet.  But hey—they’d won, and Firebrand was now being safely escorted off by the police. His armor still felt a little hot, but according to his sensors, everything was okay—no dangerous heat or burning through his undersuit to his skin or anything.  Tony took a deep breath, trying not to reel too obviously as a wave of dizziness swept over him and he blinked dark stars out of his eyes, hoping the helmet would conceal how dizzy he felt.  He took a moment to run a scan on the armor’s outer temperature, then held out a hand to Steve to help him up.

“You got that right,” Steve said with a groan, bracing his arm on his knee where he’d ended up on the ground, then getting a hand under him and taking Tony’s arm, using it to help haul himself to his feet.  Tony concentrated power in his boots, making sure the armor had the weight and heft, digging into the concrete floor of the warehouse they’d ended up in, to take Steve’s substantial bulk.  Maybe he’d gone a little overboard, though, because Steve ended up stumbling forward a little, caught himself against the arms of the armor, and there was a moment where they both almost fell over.  Steve just laughed, though.  His cowl was a little torn, tousled golden hair showing through, and his skin was flushed from the fight and just a little bit from surface burns, Tony thought, and his eyes were bright and sparkling.  He had never looked more beautiful, Tony thought, and then thought that he was completely, hopelessly besotted, but it was still true.  God, he was smiling so widely, wide and brilliant and bright, like he couldn’t imagine anything better than fighting Firebrand side by side with Tony and kicking his ass, just the two of them.  “Are you all right, Shellhead?”

Tony felt himself smiling despite himself, despite everything, smiling wide and sappy and fond. “Never better,” he said.

Steve’s grin softened, and he leaned forward, let his eyes slip closed and his forehead rest against the faceplate of the helmet, just for a moment.  “Good,” he said.  “You worried me there for a second, when he got that shot off at you.”

“Ah, hey, it was nothing,” Tony said.  “That’s what the armor’s for, to take those kinds of blasts, my shock absorbers redirect the force just fine.”  He reached up, carefully with the armor’s blunt fingers, let them trace the strong line of Steve’s jaw, cup his face gently.  “How about you, though?  He got you pretty hard.”  He was still reliving the moment when Firebrand had gotten Steve down and covered him with a stream of flame, and Tony had felt his heart stop before he’d realized Steve had gotten his knee under him and blocked it on his shield. Steve’s skin did look just a little burned, he decided, where the mask didn’t cover, pink and just a little raw, like a bad sunburn.  He rubbed the metal thumb over it gently, a little guiltily.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Steve said, shrugging it off like it was nothing, as usual, despite the good five minutes he’d spent gasping on the ground after the end of the fight while Tony made sure the authorities had Firebrand well in hand for hauling away. “Just had to get my breath back, that’s all.  That was a workout, and he really knocked the wind out of me toward the end.”  He was still grinning like Tony had taken him on the date of a lifetime, rather than the two of them having to suit up fast to prevent Firebrand from lighting up Wall Street.  Not that Tony didn’t understand where he was coming from, some days, mind you.

Tony frowned.  “Are you sure?” he said, found himself running his other hand down over Steve’s arm, his chest, scanning him with his sensors while he did.  Steve never took enough care with himself or seemed to care much if at all about his own injuries.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Steve said, gloved hands sliding up over Tony’s metal shoulders, stroking at the articulated sides of the neck, cupping the helmet like it was Tony’s jaw.  “And you’re sure you’re okay?”  His fingers compressed gently on the back of Tony’s neck, the armor’s sensors giving him the pressure readout even though he couldn’t really feel it, like a squeeze to the back of the neck, supporting him against the back of his head. “You looked a little lightheaded for a second there.”

Trust Steve to catch that, Tony thought ruefully, finishing his scan of Steve’s body.  For once, he seemed to be telling the truth—there was nothing but minor heat burns, some scrapes, bruises, some of them bad, but nothing serious. Nothing that Steve wouldn’t be nearly healed from entirely by the next day.  “Just fine,” he said.

Steve smiled in satisfaction.  “Good, clean fight, then, in the end,” he said with a laugh, “even if it got a little hairy for a minute there.  Good work, Avenger.”

“Right back atcha, Winghead,” Tony said, feeling his face heat at the praise.  Luckily Steve wouldn’t see his soft, stupid smile at that or the way he couldn’t help ducking his eyes down, not with the armor on. Even after all these years, honest praise from Steve couldn’t help but make him feel good, make his heart beat a little faster.  He patted his hand down Steve’s chest, rubbed it over the star, just reassuring himself that Steve was all right, running his sensors over him one more time.

Steve grinned, bounced on the heels of his feet a little, still holding onto Tony.  “So, when do I get to see your sweet face, mister?” he teased, and Tony found himself shaking his head at him, still smiling fondly.

He reached up, pulled the helmet off, and smiled back at him.  “Since you ask so nicely,” he said back in the same teasing tone, knowing affection was bleeding out into his voice all over and not caring.

Steve’s gloved hand was on his jaw a moment later, his mouth hot and wet against Tony’s as he leaned up into Tony’s mouth and his hand slid back to cup the back of Tony’s head, supporting gently, not hard enough to make his still throbbing head throb, a welcome steadiness as Steve pressed that hot, breathtaking kiss into his mouth.  Tony heard himself moan as he leaned into it, his hands gripping at Steve’s sides, making his split lip sting gloriously under Steve's mouth.  Steve tasted like sweat and smoke, and even so, in that moment the taste of him, the soft wetness of his mouth, the way he moaned in the back of his throat and opened his mouth for Tony’s tongue, was the best thing he’d ever tasted in his life. When he pulled away, they were both panting, and Tony just closed his eyes a moment longer, let his forehead rest against the material of Steve’s cowl and just luxuriated in feeling his warm breaths over his face, his cheeks, his lips, hot and soft and damp, even the sting of his bruised mouth, his lip, where Steve had pressed into him.

“You have a split lip,” Steve murmured, his thumb coming up to rub over it, red leather still so soft against Tony’s bruised mouth, so tender, barely whispering over it, his fingers gently, so gently, curving against Tony’s jaw.  Tony could taste the leather, parted his lips so that that thumb gently pushed between them, let his tongue push against it.  Smoke, and leather, and Steve.

“Mmm,” Tony said without opening his eyes, because it was true, but he didn’t particularly care, still just appreciating the feeling of Steve sturdy and warm against him, under his hands, his breath against his face, the warmth where they were pressed together.

“And a bruise right here,” Steve added, tilting his head back to press a kiss against the bruise over Tony’s temple, the scraping cut that was still leaking blood down the side of his face.  He pressed his cheek to Tony’s.  “That looks kind of nasty, are you sure you’re all right?”

“Plenty sure,” Tony told him.  He smiled. “Barely hurts, I swear.”

“Oh, sure,” Steve said, and Tony could feel that he was smiling too, against Tony’s skin, just above his beard.  “I bet.”

“Seriously,” Tony murmured. “It’s fine.  Ran a scan.”  Which had told him that he was mildly concussed, but it was only mild.  He’d be fine.  He could walk it off.  They shrugged off worse all the time.

“Mmm,” Steve said, and kissed Tony’s temple again, then turned his head and he was kissing Tony again, sucking on his bottom lip just enough to make the sore places throb, licking into his mouth, cradling his head in his hands as he pulled Tony even closer into him, and this time the kiss was even hotter, deep and wet and sexy, Steve’s tongue hot and aware and knowing in his mouth.  Tony leaned into it, slid his gauntleted hands up Steve’s sides, lost himself in the heat and wet and pure perfect pleasure of it, that they were both alive and here and adrenaline still pounded through him and Steve’s mouth was so wet and hot and vivid, until Steve started pressing kisses to the side of his mouth, over his jaw, moving down what little of his neck wasn’t covered by the neck of the armor and mouthing wet, sucking kisses over it, too gentle and soft to leave a mark but too wet and voluptuous to be considered anything but sexual.  The sensation was vivid, sensual in the extreme, sent a thrill through Tony’s entire body, but he still gasped, managed to catch Steve’s arms with his own.

“Steve,” he managed to gasp, as Steve nuzzled the side of his neck, sucked more wet, warm kisses into the sensitive spot just behind his ear, making him want to writhe against him. “Steve, Steve.”  Steve gave a soft sound, stopped making out with his neck, just for a second.  “I mean,” Tony said, trying to pull his head together.  “Here?  It’s an open warehouse.  Don’t you think this is—I mean—a little public?”  But he knew what was driving Steve; he felt it, too, the pounding adrenaline, the need to bury himself against the body of this man he cared about so much, reassure himself that he was still as solid and vivid and present and _there_ as ever, to run his hands over every inch of him, to channel all that extra energy left over from the fight that was currently snapping aimlessly under his skin into Steve, into pleasure.

Steve huffed, panting, against his neck, but he did pull back a little, let his hand slide away just slightly from the back of Tony’s head.  “Well,” he said, and then looked around, gave a sheepish little smile and shrugged, his eyes still on Tony’s face.  “I guess a little.”  He traced his hand down, leather-covered fingers dragging with almost unbearably soft, gentle tingling sensation over the skin of Tony’s neck he’d just left so sensitive and wet with his mouth.  His eyes looked blown under the cowl, no longer quite as blue as they had been, dark and smoky with desire, and Tony noticed that his lips were wet, red, swollen from kissing, and had to swallow, himself.  “But I don’t know if I can wait as long as the mansion,” he murmured a moment later, and Tony bet he was blushing under the cowl, under the already reddened cheeks that slight burn had given him. Steve's leather covered thumb rubbed over Tony's swollen bottom lip, and he almost moaned.

God.  Okay.  Tony felt himself lick his own bottom lip following after Steve's thumb as if in a helpless echo, the sore twinge of the bruise on it, the throb of tight, suddenly hot desire cramping in his gut.  “No need to go that far,” he said, and freed his gauntlet from Steve’s side to scan it over the room, doing a quick analysis of the building. When it was done scanning, he brought up the readouts as a hologram in his palm, quickly flicked through the details. “This way, Winghead,” he said when a likely place jumped out at him, and Steve just grinned and willingly followed him into a smaller, tighter corridor.

There was a door there that locked, a smaller tighter room that was probably a control room of some kind with a window covered with dusty but still robustly intact blinds.  Steve flipped the lock closed, smiled at Tony, and pulled the cowl off over his head, letting it hang around his neck and revealing his handsome face, the tousled hair that flopped, badly ruffled, into his eyes and fluffed up around his head, the bruise swelling one cheekbone slightly and the cut on the other one by his eye, and the way his smile changed his entire face into eager, boyish sweetness.  “So,” he said.  God, he kept licking his lips, and they were still so slick and red.

There was a little bit of a thrill going through Tony now, the way there was every time he did this, the worry, just in the back of his mind, that they might get caught, and that made everything sharper, his belly twisting with nerves and desire and adrenaline until he felt hot all over for a reason that had absolutely nothing to do with Firebrand’s flames.  He meant to say something smooth and charming and teasing, waggle his eyebrows at Steve a little bit, but instead that flush swept over him from head to toe, and he licked his bottom lip again, running his tongue over the split in it, and said, in a rush, “Let me suck you off.  God, Steve, just let me blow you.”  He could feel himself starting to sweat, stomach cramping with how badly he suddenly wanted it, breathless.

All the breath seemed to leave Steve at once in a heavy huff of air, too, and he said, strangled and breathless, “Oh, yeah, God, Tony, yes.”

Things turned into a lot of hot and heavy movement after that.  Tony dropped his helmet.  Steve’s shield clanged against the floor as Tony pushed him back into the wall, kissing him deeply, hotly, fucking his tongue into his mouth, then sucking on his bottom lip.  He reached up, pulled the wire out of Steve’s ear, still pressing soft, wet, sucking kisses over his lips, into the side of his mouth, and switched it off before he threw down it on top of the shield.  Steve was gasping, his chest heaving, under him, and Tony slid his gauntleted hands down over him and then fell to his knees with another echoing metal clang.  Steve was already unbuckling his utility belt, panting, and then it fell to the floor, and he was scrabbling at his flies with both hands.  Tony reached up, careful as he helped him get the uniform open with his gauntleted hands, pulled out his protective cup and pushed his tight briefs down as Steve struggled with his tight leather pants, clinging to his thickly muscled, flexing thighs.  His gigantic cock sprang free, already flushed a brilliant dark red, the head peeking out of the foreskin, slick and messy all over the tip, the shaft.  Steve was already flushed all down his chest, Tony noticed, over the tops of those thighs, deep red beneath the sheen of soft golden hair, and he pushed the heavy fabric of Steve’s uniform and undershirts up over his belly, pressing kisses up over the trail of soft blond hair that ran up his belly from his cock, sucking wet and hot over his abs, up to his navel, feeling that flush beneath his lips, against his own skin.

“Tony,” Steve was moaning, breathless already, his tongue pressing wet against his bottom lip as he panted, “Tony.”  His gloved hands came down, sank into Tony’s hair, and Tony could smell the red leather as they palmed through Tony’s hair, kneaded, not squeezing hard at all, just holding on.

“I’ve gotcha,” he murmured, flicking his tongue over Steve’s navel, licking up the sweat there, pushing his tongue in against the little hollow and slipping it in and out a few times, slow and teasing, just like he had to his mouth, earlier, and then he deactivated his repulsors with the push of a button at each wrist, settled both hands at Steve’s hips, keeping his uniform shirt pushed up, and kissed his way down his quivering abs, over each firmly muscled hip, down the creases between his thighs and his groin, smelling the sweaty musky scent of Steve and his desire, feeling the way Steve bucked needily up against him, his cock slapping wet and hard at Tony’s chin and smearing him with wet, splattering precome, rubbing his gauntleted thumbs gently against his hips, before he bent his head and pressed a kiss to the tip, letting his wet, warm breath just feather over it.

“Tony,” Steve gasped out like he’d been punched hard in the gut, hands slamming back to tense into fists against the wall so hard it echoed through the building and for a second Tony thought he’d crack the wall, “teasing me, please, please, just do it, hell, I need you.”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart, your wish is my command,” Tony murmured, and took Steve’s cock into his mouth.

He’d wanted to blow Steve so badly, and if his hands hadn’t been in the gauntlets, they’d probably have been shaking with it, with the eager need to have him in his mouth, the relief of getting it, the weight between his lips and in his mouth, stretching his mouth out so wide, so heavy, filling him up, the smell and taste of him across his tongue, the way his wet heat and the sweat and precome of him made Tony’s split lip sting and sting, the bruise throb and ache as pressure settled onto it.  Steve just moaned, flatteringly low and hoarse and desperate, and it was one of the best sounds Tony had ever heard, urging him on. Steve smelled like leather and sweat and his own sweet musk, but he tasted like leather and skin and musk and sweat, and Tony groaned around him, slid his tongue over him, playing with the foreskin, sliding his tongue between it and the soft sensitive skin of the head, savoring the taste of Steve, before he sucked, hollowing his cheeks and leaning into it.

He sucked softly at first, pulling off occasionally to press soft, wet, open-mouthed kisses along the shaft, under the head, not caring how Steve’s cock smeared his own saliva and precome across his nose when he did, rubbing his thumb and fingers gently under the head while he kissed and licked up and down the shaft on both sides, then taking it all back into his mouth and sucking again.  He could feel himself getting hard, too, his erection pressing almost painfully against the metal of the groin plate, even with the protective padding and the close-fitting undersuit, felt how damp he felt down there already too, even though the undersuit was made to wick as much moisture as possible away from his skin.  His cock throbbed between his legs, heat thrummed through his veins and coiled in his belly as he sucked on Steve’s tip, playing with his tongue, suckling gently, and then pushed himself further down on his shaft, Steve’s heavy girth spreading his mouth open as he did until his jaw ached.  He felt so hot in Tony’s mouth, against his tongue, his hips and cock jerking as Tony played him, worked him, and than Steve was whining as Tony slid his tongue teasingly back and forth under his sensitive cockhead, his hands coming back to slide into Tony’s hair again, still gentle, still careful, but gripping a little more tightly in it this time, pulling just a little, making Tony’s head throb.

It just turned Tony on even more, spurred him on harder, made his cock throb even more hotly painfully restrained in his armor.  His head swam and throbbed, aching, and he felt a little dizzy, but somehow that didn’t make him want to stop, only made him want to push himself harder.  He sucked harder, swallowed around Steve, and looked up at Steve as his head fell back against the wall with a thunk and he gasped, low and harsh and heavy, even harder than he had during the battle, as if Tony blowing him was harder to bear, more overwhelming and intense, than a battle with Firebrand could ever be.

It was a hell of a rush, sitting there with his mouth around Steve’s cock, feeling it so huge and heavy that his jaw twinged as he pushed himself down farther, looking up at him and seeing Captain America sweaty and disheveled, his gloved hands petting and kneading and tugging through Tony’s hair, cowl off so the way he scrunched up his eyes and forehead and his mouth sagged open, panting wetly, his pink lips and saliva slick mouth and flushed cheeks, were all perfectly visible, the hot flush bright red on his thighs and stomach.  It wasn’t that Captain America was more of a turn-on than Steve; the other way around, actually, knowing it was _Steve_ , Steve, who he knew, who was his friend, who was awkward and uncertain sometimes and loved fighting and the adrenaline rush way too much for his own good, who was dorky and pigheaded and real, who _loved him_ , who Tony loved, under that scale mail and leather, eyes screwed up with desperate pleasure and cock hot and hard and filling Tony’s mouth up with precome, spurting it down his throat, making rough little gasping breathless noises and soft grunts and trembling all over, made it a thousand times hotter than blowing that plastic, unbending hero of Tony’s childhood could ever be, however perfect he had been.  He could smell the metal and leather of Steve’s uniform, feel the heavy fabric draping over Steve's thighs, over the gauntlets, even if not the same way he could with his own skin, see the way the tight leather had been barely pushed down Steve's thighs and was pushing up against his balls, tight under his cock, Steve’s chest heaving so that the scale mail reflected light around the room and the star bobbed up and down, and he kept digging his booted foot against the floor, rocking it back and forth as he rocked his hips just the tiniest bit and visibly tried not to push hard into Tony’s mouth.

He rubbed his gauntleted thumbs over Steve’s hips again, hearing him moan and seeing more than feeling him shiver, and took him further into his mouth, until he was bumping against the back of his throat and Tony had to squeeze his eyes shut and concentrate on relaxing in order not to gag, in order to take him.  It took him one, two, three taps of Steve’s big, blunt, hot cockhead against the back of his throat, and then all at once Tony felt his throat muscles finally relax, and he was in.

The wonderful thing about deepthroating Steve was how it took Tony’s every sense and scrap of attention. It consumed him utterly—Steve was so huge, and Tony’s throat would flex and shudder around him, aching and almost choking with the intrusion, and Tony would consciously have to relax, loosen his shoulders, remind his throat to relax, how to do this, that he could do this, and with Steve’s warmth radiating into him, the sounds he made, gasping and choking and wondering little moans and gasps of Tony’s name, his hands in his hair, stroking and squeezing and rocking in gentle fists against his scalp like he wanted to pull him down but wouldn’t let himself—there was just nothing like it. The ache in Tony's jaw, in his sore lip, the way spit frothed up in his mouth and spilled out over his lips and there was nothing he could do about it, the rhythm of it as he got into it, letting Steve slide out of the back of his throat and back over his tongue then pushing himself back onto him, taking him deep again, until he was pressing his face to Steve’s soft sweaty golden curls of pubic hair, his balls bumping against his chin, and it meant he was all the way down and Tony just took a moment to savor it, his eyes closed, feeling his throat flex and spasm as he dragged in breaths through his nose and drooled around Steve’s cock, smelling him, the scent of his skin, his musk, the leather—and then he pulled back, let Steve’s cock slide back and precome pool with the saliva on his tongue, and started all over again.  His head was pounding, and it was perfect.

Tony let himself go slow a few times, then sped up, let it get hot and wet and messy, let Steve’s cock rasp and drag in his throat and over his tongue, let himself press into Steve as he sucked him, pushing his chest up against Steve's thighs and legs even though he could feel nothing but pressure through the armor, let himself pant and slobber wetly and drool and moan and felt his face go hot and flushed. His whole body felt soft and hot with the pleasure of it, the desire and need shooting to his cock until his hips were flexing helplessly under his own armor, trying to rub himself against the painful sheet of metal over his groin, if nothing else, and he was sure it looked either ridiculous or obscene, the armor’s hips flexing needily like that, and couldn’t care.

And then Steve was coming, hot wet come shooting down his throat, filling him up with warmth and heat and _life_ , because Steve was right there and he felt so good, and Tony moaned and moaned and sucked him down, swallowing and swallowing, softening the suction but still sucking on Steve as he rolled his hips and whined and arched his back against the wall and slammed his booted feet down on the concrete floor so hard it actually did start to crack and gasped, _“Tony, Tony, Tony, oh, God,_ ” tossing his head.  This was almost Tony’s favorite part (almost because all of it was his favorite part, really, it was so good, it was just—so, so good), gentling Steve through his orgasm, sucking him as he came, his cock so hot and sensitive and jerking in his mouth. He always knew just when Steve was getting _too_ sensitive for it to be pleasurable anymore, and he pulled off.  A little come spilled out of his mouth when he did, coating his mouth, the insides of his lips where they pulled off wet over Steve’s cockhead, and dribbled out from the corner of his lips.  Tony sucked on his bottom lip, sucked it off, feeling the tender twinge of the bruise there, the stinging pain in his lip, and looked up at Steve, rubbing one gauntleted hand against his own sweaty forehead and trying to catch his breath.

“Oh, oh, wow,” Steve moaned, and then his hand came down, red leather sliding over Tony’s lips, poking at the side of his mouth and wiping up the come on his glove before he slid his first two fingers into Tony’s mouth, pressing the come back into his mouth, and that went straight to Tony’s gut, hot and pounding in his stomach and his groin.  He moaned, felt his eyes flutter, and sucked on them willingly, savoring the pressure and taste, how big Steve’s gloved fingers felt in his mouth, over his tongue, pressing down, the taste of them, leather and leather polish and smoke and dirt and he didn’t even care, it was so erotic, and then Steve was fucking Tony’s mouth gently with his fingers and Tony was moaning, pressing into it, let his lower lip be pressed into his mouth, against his teeth, until it burned and ached and hurt, as Steve did it, swiped them over his tongue and mimicking what his cock had just done to Tony’s mouth.  “Christ, you’re good,” Steve said, breathless, a wondering tone in his voice, and Tony felt warm all over again, all at once, and swallowed a moan of his own from the pure pleasure of that praise, just sucking on Steve’s fingers as Steve traced his thumb along Tony’s chin, cupped his hand against his jaw.  “I can’t believe you,” he said, “you’re so, so,” _dirty,_ Tony thought, automatically, couldn’t help it, there, on his knees, in his armor, his mouth still wet with Steve’s come, _filthy, slutty_ , “ _wonderful_ ,” Steve said, on a long, deep sigh, and Tony felt himself go hot, looked down and sat back on his heels a little, and Steve sighed and let his leather-covered fingers slide wetly out of Tony’s mouth, slip down over his bottom lip and chin and over his beard.  “I should do something for you,” Steve said, softly now, and when Tony looked up at him his face was very pink even despite the slight burns, flushing brilliantly.

“No,” he said, a little hoarse and wet, and coughed into his hand.  “No, I’m fine.”

“But,” Steve said, his brows drawing together, “Tony, it’s only fair, you were so—”

“Shh, shh,” Tony said, very aware of his own throbbing cock, how very badly he would have liked Steve’s big hand on it right then, squeezing and massaging—oh, man, maybe still in the glove, that would be, that would be something else—“unlike some people, it’s not quite as easy to get me out of this thing.  I can wait until we get back to the mansion,” he helped Steve back into his underwear, lifting his cock gently with his still-gauntleted hand, something that made Steve huff out his breath and dig his teeth into his bottom lip and shiver all over, his cock jerking a little in Tony’s hand as he ran the metal thumb gently under the head, leaned in to press a soft, wet kiss to the foreskin-covered tip before he tucked it carefully back into Steve’s underwear and helped him pull up his ridiculously tight leather pants in awkward jerks (he didn’t want to pull too hard and rip them, after all).  “You can make it up to me then,” he promised, and looked up at Steve through his eyelashes on purpose, pulling Steve’s uniform shirt back down over his pants, adjusting it until it fit properly.

“Ohhh,” Steve said. “Yeah, Shellhead, you probably wouldn’t enjoy it as much in a dingy warehouse as in your own workshop anyway, huh?”

Yeah, Steve did know him pretty well.  Tony just shrugged, letting it serve as an agreement, and buckled Steve’s utility belt around his waist, tugged it until it hung properly, then handed him his wire to tuck into it.  “And there,” he pointed out, “we can take our time.”  And maybe he could make Steve come again.  His cock throbbed at the thought, at the thought of Steve taking his time with him.

“You,” Steve panted, and smiled, “okay, you have a point.”  He raised one hand, brushed Tony’s hair back out of his eyes with one very gentle hand.  “And maybe you can take an aspirin.  I’m sorry about your head.  And your mouth, Jesus, that’s probably really bruised now, I’m sorry—”

Tony smiled, shook his head. “Don’t be,” he said, honestly, and it came out hoarse and real.  “I enjoyed every second of that, honey.”

“Well,” Steve said softly, fondly, still rubbing Tony’s cheek gently with his thumb, “as long as you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Tony told him, firmly, sincerely.  “Stop apologizing, sugarpie.”  He picked up Steve’s shield, held it up for him, and there was a sweet, strange ache in his gut as Steve took it from him, shrugged it easily back onto his arm. Kneeling before Steve, handing Captain America his shield, there was just—something about that.  Like squire before his knight, or—or a knight before his lord, or something like that.   _My King Arthur_ , Tony thought, smiling a little wistfully to himself, and leaned in, let his sore forehead rub against Steve’s hip, pressed a kiss there, and Steve’s other hand came down, cupped the back of his head, stroked through his hair, until something about the tenderness ached in Tony's gut, in his chest, tight and warm. 

Tony got a deep breath and picked up his helmet.  “Come on,” he said, and stood, and winked at Steve.  “I’ll fly you.  I suddenly want to get home fast, for some reason.”

“I’m not about to keep you waiting,” Steve said, grinning, glowing the way he did after really good sex, flushed and happy and his eyes so warm and wanting on Tony that Tony felt like he was eight feet tall.  “Fly me home, Shellhead.  Fly me home.”


End file.
